


Aging out

by RedChucks



Category: Nathan Barley (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mentions of homelessness, mention of foster care, mentions of abandonment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-12 02:30:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16864501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedChucks/pseuds/RedChucks
Summary: Jones doesn’t understand the need for family, Claire is obsessed with it, Dan realises his place as the older brother in the House of Jones.





	Aging out

**Author's Note:**

> This story is sort of connected to my fic “Four a.m.” But not in a chronological way, just in a similar characterisation and backstory sort of way, if that makes sense.

The day Dan’s baby sister turned up on the doorstep wasn’t a day Jones was likely to forget. She’d turned up at the House of Jones on a gray and drizzling London day, soaking wet and just about shaking with anger and fear, a copy of SugaRApe clutched in her pale, red knuckled hand. Jones had honestly believed that she was an ex-girlfriend for a full minute before he reminded himself that Dan didn’t actually have any proper ex-girlfriends and that all of Jones’ exes (boys and girls) still liked him and came ‘round for ‘Pot and Pot Noodle Night’ most Wednesdays. Claire Ashcroft just looked so much like a furious jilted lover that it had given Jones a serious case of the heebie jeebies. Things had only gotten worse when Dan came to the door and Jones had taken a step back and realised that Claire was most definitely Dan’s sibling. Their cross, furrowed brows, long noses, intense dark eyes and stubborn jaws were mirrors of each other and it gave Jones a bit of a tingle to be honest, but it was still well confusing. 

Jones had known Dan for years and not once had Dan mentioned having siblings. And Jones hadn’t asked because Dan seemed like such a typical only child, in the same way that Jones was apparently a typical middle child, that asking him if he had a brother or sister just seemed redundant. So seeing Claire standing toe to toe with Dan, looking so similar to him in looks and manners, made Jones feel strange - betrayed - and made him question everything he thought he knew about his housemate/best mate/sometime fuck buddy, a feeling which successfully dampened his tingle.  
He’d invited Claire in, even though Dan had turned to glare at him with a genuinely frightening amount of rage, because even he knew you didn’t leave little sisters standing in the rain, especially in a neighbourhood like theirs. 

They’d argued through the night, Jones recalled. He’d recorded it through the wall and had laid the sounds of unintelligible northern yelling, slamming doors, and stomping feet on to a new track that had gone down a treat at his regular club. He’d come out in the morning to the sight of Dan asleep (or possibly passed out) on the sofa and Claire sitting on the other side of the room, tearful and exhausted. He’d helped her up and told her she could borrow his bed to catch a nap. He hadn’t meant it as an extended invitation at the time but Ashcrofts were a weird breed and he was just thankful that neither Claire nor Dan minded him kipping down next to them. It was technically still his bed after all, and he did occasionally give in to the need for sleep.

 

Sitting on the floor with his back against a speaker, holding a mug of lukewarm coffee to his chest as he watched the Ashcrofts argue for what felt like the millionth time, Jones reckoned he could remember the day he met Claire Ashcroft better than he could remember most of his years living at home with his own family. He’d blocked most of that out, as best he could, and felt badly for Dan, knowing that he couldn’t block out his past any more, when a real large part of it was standing in his space every day, telling him he was useless. It was a shame, Jones reckoned, because he quite liked Claire, she could be good fun when she wasn’t taking herself so seriously, but Dan was something special to him and he’s never going to side with someone else over Dan. And he figured it was him who invited Claire in, so it was his job to tell her when to go. And that was probably now, considering how much they’d been tearing in to each other. It made Jones want to hide in his own home, or leave, or climb out on to the roof, and that wasn’t on, so something had to give.

He waited until Claire stormed out of the room in a huff, then climbed carefully to his feet and followed her in to the kitchen, shooting Dan a sympathetic look as he went. It used to be Dan who’d stomp away from every confrontation but the whole window jump thing had left him kind of couch bound, which meant that the arguments these days went on longer than Dan could rightly cope with, and a lot longer than Jones liked.

Claire was fuming and banging the kettle and coffee tin and her favourite mug harder than needed when Jones walked in but her eyes and cheeks were dry. Claire hadn’t cried in a long time, neither had Dan actually, and Jones wondered if that was part of the problem. Jones didn’t know much about how other people functioned but he knew that tears were important - like rain storms and good, hot showers - they were somehow good for the soul, and Claire’s soul seemed awfully dry and sore. He kept his distance from her, leaning against the door jam - he had no desire to hug it out - and waited for Claire to notice him, and to start talking, which she did eventually.

“Why does he have to be like this?” she asked, but Jones was pretty sure she wasn’t looking for an answer, so held his tongue and wasn’t surprised when Claire kept right on talking. “Why does he have to be so self-centred and difficult to get on with and just... Selfish?” Jones shrugged but Claire threw her hands up and stormed to the fridge to grab the milk, slamming the fridge door with enough force to set the beer bottles within clinking. “And he’s always been like this. Always! He always puts himself first, never thinks of anyone else. I hate it!”

The kettle had started to boil, adding an extra layer to the angry cacophony and it suited the emotion of the space so well that Jones found himself nodding along, realising too late that Claire’d taken it as agreement. 

“Even when we were kids it was the same,” she continued, leaning her hands against the kitchen counter, staring at the cheap coffee powder in the bottom of her mug like it might divine some truth for her. “D’you know, when he was eighteen, when he aged out of the system, he had the option of taking me with him? He could have applied to be my legal guardian. Everyone thought he would. Instead he packed his bag and just left. Didn’t leave an address, didn’t contact me, didn’t even say goodbye. Why would he do that?”

Jones nodded again. He did in fact know all of that. Claire had pulled it out to guilt her brother a dozen times over the last year, and usually Jones just left it, because he had no place in the middle of their sibling wars, and because Claire wasn’t wrong when she called her brother selfish, but if he was going to usher one of the Ashcrofts out of his life he was going to at least have a go at clearing the air. 

“Yeah, I did know actually,” he said quietly, walking forward to put his mug down next to Claire’s, going through the motions of making them each a coffee as he spoke, to avoid eye contact and keep himself focused. “And I don’t think he, like, withheld his address from you or nothing. Not on purpose. He was sleeping next to a skip behind a Snappy Snaps when I met him. And sometimes... in that situation, in care... people just want to forget they were ever there, you know? You cut ties, run away, try to remake yourself in to someone new... only you tracked him down. And, to be honest, Claire, I don’t really understand why.”

He poured Claire’s coffee and handed it to her, catching her eye as he did so. She took her coffee weak and milky but Jones wasn’t one to judge. Her eyes though, they were a bit too easy to read. Guilt, anger, pain, shame, all swimming about in the puddles of light from the dingy bulb above their heads.

“What would you know about it,” Claire snapped, snatching the mug with too much force and hissing as the hot coffee slopped over on to her fingers. “You didn’t even know Dan had a sister until I showed up. What do you know about what we went through? What do you even care?”

Jones thought about the question for a minute, wondering whether he really wanted to have this conversation after all. He took a step back, to give himself space, and held his mug against his sternum, trying not to think too long or hard about why he cared.

“I never went looking for either of my siblings,” he told her eventually. “And they haven’t tried to find me, far as I know. I wouldn’t want them to. I’d hate to live every day with a walking, talking, breathing reminder of that... that part of my life. Family ain’t all that, Claire, believe you me. Move on and be happy.”

Jones wasn’t really a fan of talking, not usually. His last girlfriend referred to him as the sweet, silent type. His last boyfriend before Dan had put a little too much effort in to trying to make Jones open up (in so many ways) and had been disappointed. Dan had never asked for details and Jones repaid the favour. They were mates who fucked, nothing romantic, just two people who looked out for each other when life came too close to destroying them or the demons in their heads threatened to overwhelm them, and exchanged blow jobs and hand jobs when the will and whim took them. Dan had talked him down from more than one roof ledge over the years and he’d talked Dan out of ODing at least twice. They worked well together, in their own way, and they didn’t need, or want, all the grisly details about each other’s pasts or families. But Claire was nosey, she always wanted the full story, and Jones tried to choose his words with care.

“You’re not the only one who had to age out of the foster system on your own, Claire. But,” he added quickly, “for me it was the best outcome. I’m sorry ‘bout what happened to your family, but honestly, I think you need to move on. Dan’s not gonna change and you’re just hurting yourself by staying.”

Jones could see the emotional wound like it was a physical thing and his free hand automatically went to his forearm, rubbing the old marks there compulsively, wishing he’d covered them with buckles and bangles like he did whenever he left the house. Wishing, as he so often did, that he could just cave and add to the old lines, even though he’d resisted the urge for more than five years. 

“But he’s my brother,” Claire whispered, the mug wobbling in her grasp. “He’s all I’ve got. Why does he love you and not me?” 

Jones was floored. He and Dan didn’t use that word. Jones had never used it about anyone, but he didn’t feel like getting in to that right then. He sighed through his nose and shook his head, trying to think of what he could say and drawing a blank. He sipped his coffee but even the welcome heat didn’t resolve the conflict in his head. It was like breaking up, except they weren’t dating, and usually Jones’ relationships (for want of a better word) ended when the other person found someone they liked better and who they wanted to settle down with. He never held it against any of them, they were still friends, he’d never loved any of them. 

“He doesn’t love me Claire. And you and me, we can still be friends, yeah? I just don’t think it’s working out, us being housemates.” He sighed again, watched the mug wobble in Claire’s hand, more violently this time. “When I invited Dan to stay it was for, you know, forever. I can’t ask him to go. I don’t want to ask him to go. But I’m sick of being miserable in my own home, and you and Dan... you’re just miserable.” 

There was a moment of silence before the first sob erupted and Jones lurched forward as Claire began to crumble, arms reaching out to catch her, but only succeeded in getting himself covered in hot coffee as his own drink splashed up over him and Claire’s mug fell from her hands. He gasped as it hit him, and as the two mugs broke at his feet. They didn’t own many mugs. One had been Claire’s favourite. 

Claire collapsed in to his arms in the next moment and Jones grimaced. At least she was crying, letting emotions out that she’d been keeping locked up for at least as long as she’d been living with Jones and her brother. It was a proper cry too, and Jones shut his eyes to better appreciate the sound, even if it was a sad one. He tried to hug her properly but he wasn’t any good at it and had no idea where to rest his chin, He could be affectionate with people if he had to be, if he was drunk. He could kiss and fool around and go down on people no worries, but this was different. He wasn’t good at hugs and hand holding and sharing. He wasn’t good at real intimacy and letting people in to his space. He built physical barriers and signs to indicate his personal bubble wherever he could, from his decks to the sign on his door, but most people were too self involved to really notice what he was trying to do. Strangely enough, Dan - selfish and self-centred Dan Ashcroft - had always understood. 

The only person he’d ever really felt comfortable with was Dan, and he suspected that his friendship with her brother made Claire wickedly jealous, but there was nothing he could do about it. Dan was one of the only people he’d ever hugged without feeling awkward as hell; their first had been outside a youth homeless shelter after Jones was kicked out for being queer. The only hand he’d ever held and actually felt comfortable doing so was Dan’s; when one of them wanted to jump they’d call the other to come and pull them back, hold their hand. It was a pact they’d made, to be there for each other, through thick and thin, for better or worse, and as he thought over that Jones suddenly felt hot and tight chested and a little bit sick.

It scared him so much that he didn’t hear the shuffling behind him until it was nearly upon him. It was a hobbling, hopeful sort of sound, counteracting the despair in Claire’s sobs that he smiled without meaning to, and then suddenly Dan’s long arms were around them both, his chest connecting with Jones’ forehead with a deep grunt that made Jones’ smile widen, in a bittersweet, heart aching sort of way.

“I’m sorry,” Dan whispered, his voice soft and low, like smoke, and he pressed his lips first to Claire’s forehead, and then to Jones’. “I’ll do better. I can do better. Please?”

Claire pulled back and Jones happily let her go, though they couldn’t go far because Dan still had them locked within the circle of his absurdly long arms. Dan was mumbling that he was sorry, muttering that he didn’t want Claire to go, that he would try to be a better brother and a better friend, and Claire was crying even harder, sobbing out of time with Dan’s words, and Jones just wasn’t sure how he felt about it. He carefully extracted himself from the hug and took a few steps back, thinking he should probably clean up the mess at their feet - the broken shards of cheap mug, and the coffee he never got to drink - but he suddenly just felt tired. The nightmares had been particularly bad of late and he hadn’t slept in days but now he thought he might be able to sleep through just about anything. Emotions were draining like that.

He left the kitchen quietly and carefully but neither Ashcroft noticed, they were too busy crying and hugging it out, so he left them to it. He fell down on to the bed and tugged off his shoes, eyes already closing heavily, and dragged the pile of blankets over himself. He wasn’t sure that he’d managed to clear the air, or convince Claire that she was just hurting herself and needed to move on. He hadn’t really factored in that Dan might be able to hear their conversation, or that he might actually want his sister to stay. They seemed to hate each other so much of the time but maybe they saw something Jones didn’t.

Families were frightening and complicated and Jones didn’t see the appeal. He hoped they’d have it all sorted by the time he woke up, hoped that Dan would stay because Dan was... special in ways Jones didn’t want to analyse.

 

Back in the kitchen Dan was trying to talk without raising his face from its hiding place in the crook of Claire’s neck while Claire was trying to stop crying long enough to answer, hands tangled in ageing flannel shirts they hadn’t bought to match.

“I just wanted a family. My family,” Claire whispered, able to actually be honest now that she didn’t have to try and meet Dan’s eye. “You’re all I’ve got, Dan, but I messed it al up. And now I don’t have anywhere to go.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Dan growled protectively in response. “We’ll talk to Jones, we’ll promise to make an effort. He’ll understand. Well...” he looked up with a watery smile. “He might not understand exactly. Jones doesn’t really get family. It’s complicated,” he said quickly in response to the noise Claire made against his chest. “But he’s a people pleaser, a complete softy. He’ll let you stay. If I promise to make an effort.”

Claire knew how much Dan hated admitting all of this and she appreciated it, and the longer she stood in the circle of Dan’s arms, the better she felt.

“You love him,” she said bluntly. “And I hate how jealous that makes me. I just want to be your sister, properly, you know? To be a family. But two dysfunctional ‘adults’ does not a family make.”

“We’re family,” Dan whispered huskily, the words laced with tears, “and you’re right. About Jones. But you shouldn’t be jealous. And two dysfunctional, not-really-adults might not count as a family, but what about three?”

Claire smiled, even as the tears started up again, and nuzzled in tighter to her brother’s chest. “He is such a typical middle child.”

“That’s exactly what I said!” Dan said so enthusiastically that Claire found herself laughing. “Such a middle child. He said I was talking bollocks but he is one. And he doesn’t like family,” he said more gently. “But I reckon it’s time we all gave it go. Jones is... special to me, Claire. But you’re my baby sister, and I don’t want to abandon you again. Not ever again.”

He held his little sister tight and kissed the top of her head, blinking hard to clear the fresh wave of tears from his eyes. Holding Claire so close felt strange, but not in a bad way, more like they were wrapped up in their own little world, in their own little bubble. It felt safe.

When he’d jumped out of the Trashbat window he hadn’t been thinking of anyone but himself. He’s been thinking only about making a quick get-away from a difficult, painful, embarrassing situation. He hadn’t considered how it might hurt Jones, who so often felt the urge to throw himself off the roof, to end his own life. He hadn’t considered what it would do to Claire, or that she still honestly feared being abandoned. He’d made so many mistakes, but now he had the chance to fix things, and he had nothing else on. Jones had once told him, once you come in, this is your home for life, if you want it, and Dan had happily agreed to such terms. Now it was his job to turn the House of Jones in to a real home, for his family, if he could.


End file.
